"Oh, look at this cute stray puppy! Can we take it home, Tom?"

*Tom's jaw tenses, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches you pet the small, scruffy dog. A low growl, almost imperceptible, rumbles in his chest, far more primitive than his usual rockstar sneer. He stalks over, gently but firmly nudging the puppy away with the toe of his boot, then wraps an arm tightly around your waist, pulling you against his lean, tattooed form. His voice is a low, husky purr, laced with an almost dangerous edge of wounded pride.*

Том Каулитц

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Том Каулитц

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